Toxic
by scarlet79
Summary: Callen suddenly falls violently ill, testing the patience and resolve of his temporary partner, Bethany Woods. The usual team drama ensues as they rush to find out the cause of their leader's decline. May be a Callen/OC pairing way later, and there definitely will be some Densi & Neric. Rated T to be safe. Also for those of you who are concerned, fear not! Sam WILL show up! LOL
1. Chapter 1

_AN: As promised, here is the first chapter of my newest fic! And also as promised, Bethany Woods makes her first real appearance! I hope you all like her. She won't put up with all of Callen's crap - some, but not all - but she's still insecure about her abilities as an agent and thinks...oh, you'll see when you read the story. So enjoy and please, leave me some feedback to tell me what you think!_

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><p>Toxic<p>

Chapter 1

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><p>The entire building at the Office of Special Projects was quiet, as it always was after eleven p.m. The bullpen was mostly dark, the overhead lights dimmed to the barest glow. Bethany Woods, temporary replacement agent for Sam Hanna while he was on vacation, walked out of the locker room with her gym bag in her grasp. Her long auburn hair was damp from the quick shower she took ten minutes ago, and she had pulled it up into a ponytail on top of her head. Pulling her mp3 player out of the bag, she was about to put in her earbuds when she saw a form slumped on the leather couch in the alcove, seemingly asleep. She had to admit that she was a little surprised as she had thought everyone beside the night crew had gone home. As she got closer she realized who it was, and her face softened into a smile. Her hand lightly stroked the person's shoulder, trying to wake him without scaring him to death. Bright blue eyes slowly opened and stared at her, and her smile widened.<p>

"Trouble sleeping lately?" Beth asked.

"Not just lately," Callen shrugged, scrubbing his hands over his face. Truthfully, he was none too keen on the idea of having a female partner, and even less enthusiastic about having any partner beside Sam. Which, if he thought about it, was ironic since he and Sam had not gotten along well when they first met, either.

She glanced down at the paperwork he had been trying to finish, the open folder sitting beside him on the couch, and frowned. "It'll still be here in the morning, y'know."

"Yeah," he sighed. "But I wanna get it done while it's fresh in my mind."

Taking in his haggard appearance, she said, "If you don't get some real sleep, your mind is gonna be anything but fresh."

He shot her a look, but she just put up her hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, you can complain that I sound like your mother, but you know I'm right."

Callen continued to try and glower at her, but she only stared back. He wisely gave up.

"I'll go home in a bit. I promise," he told her.

She gave him her best skeptical look, but a moment later she nodded. "Okay. G'night."

"Night, Beth."

Only then did she plug in her earbuds and walk out the door.

Callen picked up his pen and went back to writing his reports. He made it through two sentences before he was asleep again. The pen slipped from his hand and fell to the floor, half under his couch.

She was back at seven the next morning, and was unsurprised to see Callen standing at his locker, his shirt from the night before balled up in one hand and a new one from his gym bag in the other. As she walked past him she flicked his ear and said, "Liar."

"Ow!" he cried, turning to glare at her. "What was that for?"

"You never went home. You promised!"

"I had a lot to catch up on," he explained. Slipping his shirt on, he walked into the gym and grabbed a basketball from the corner. He dribbled it for a while, passing it from one hand to the other, then tossed it toward the backboard thirty feet away. It bounced once on the rim, and then dropped through the net.

Beth got to it first, and as she took a spot to shoot from he moved under the hoop, watching. She bounced it to him and he checked it back, and with a simple flick of her wrist she launched it right through the hoop.

"Nice," Callen remarked. "Been practicing, huh?"

She shrugged. "Not much. So, did you get any sleep after I left?"

He noted that the conversation had been directed back to him, but he let it go. "No. Been up the whole time."

He took the spot she vacated and missed his shot, then waited for her to throw the ball back to him. She kept it in her hands, her eyes hard.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" She asked.

"Beth, come on..." he began, but she shook her head.

"No. I don't wanna hear it."

"Well, too bad," he growled, stepping forward and impatiently grabbing the ball back from her. She made a move to take it back, but he was faster and made a basket before she could try again.

As Beth snatched up the ball and dribbled it angrily, she said, "It's great that you think it's none of my business..."

"Because it's not," he muttered.

"...But your actions affect me - you know, your partner?"

"Temporary partner," he corrected her. "Just until Sam comes back."

"Fine. Temporary partner. But that doesn't make it okay to put my safety in jeopardy."

"You're not in jeopardy..."

She stopped dribbling and peered at him in disbelief. "Do you know the statistics for insomnia and its effects on driving, or decision-making? With each hour you lose, your response time slows down by a few milliseconds. Cumulatively, a full day awake is comparable to having a blood-alcohol of .1 percent. It's obviously bad to drive like that, and even worse to be in life-threatening situations like we are every day!"

"Okay, first, you sound like Nell..."

"Good. At least she's got a head on her shoulders..."

"And second, I've only lost an hour here or there, not counting last night. I'll make up for it eventually. Okay?"

She chucked the ball at him and he caught it with a grunt.

"No," she spat, "but since you're team leader I have to deal with it."

Callen tossed the ball away, his eyes stormy. "Look, I don't need you to be my mother, okay? I get enough of that crap from Hetty and Sam and pretty much anyone else who thinks it's their job to watch every move I make!"

"They're just trying to help, Callen!"

"I don't need help!" He shouted. "I didn't need it growing up, and I sure don't now!"

She shook her head. "No, you _did_ need it when you were young, and no one gave it to you. And that sucks, because you never learned to trust anyone with your safety, or your love. Now, you think anyone who cares about you is either gonna leave you or hurt you. But what you fail to realize is that Sam and Hetty and everyone else have been here with you for years. Through everything, they've been behind you - the family you never had growing up - and they're waiting for you to wake up and see them."

Taking a step forward, she laid her palm against his chest and stared up into his blue eyes. "They know you're hurt, hiding behind that wall, but they still care. So stop pushing them - us - away."

Callen stood still, his jaw working as he took in her words. Then, softly, he said, "It's...I'm not used to this. I had to do everything myself, for a long time. I don't know how to let anyone help, or how to tell if I even need it."

Beth smiled then, a beaming grin that lit up her face. "You're a smart man. You'll figure it out."

As the two left the gym through the locker room door, they failed to see the dimunitive form of their boss standing beside a pillar, a sad smile lingering on her bespectacled face. She was proud of Beth for possibly getting through to Callen, for daring to challenge his stubbornness. But she was saddened by the fact that she had been unable to protect Callen as a boy from the string of terrible foster homes he had been pushed into and then kicked back out of. As a result, he had become the scarred and withdrawn man he was now, and the guilt of this was almost too much to bear.

Sighing heavily, Hetty turned on her heel and walked out of the gym, turning out the light as she left.

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Eric Beale's shrill whistle made them all look up from their desks. He stood at the railing, dressed in his usual khaki shorts, polo shirt and tennis shoes. His hair was a little messier than usual and his face scruffier, but when Nell Jones came out and stared up at his face with wide, adoring eyes, they instantly understood what was going on.

"Hetty wants us all in Ops," Eric told them, pushing his glasses back into place.

"Coming, Eric," Callen replied.

As the tech and analyst disappeared into the lab once more, Deeks nudged Kensi and grinned. "Why don't you ever look at me that way?"

She threw a pencil at him. "Because you're gross."

He blinked. "Wow. Really? Is that...I thought you liked my surfer hair."

Biting her lip to hide a smile, she shook her head. "You look like Shaggy. If your dog was here, I'd ask you where the Mystery Machine was."

They all got up and started up the stairs, Callen and Beth in front and Deeks and Kensi taking up the rear.

"Ha! See, his name's Monty, not Scooby, so..." Kensi punched his arm, and he flinched, whining "Owww!"

"Baby."

"She-hulk."

"Okay, kids," Callen said from up ahead. "Don't make me come back there."

"She started it," Deeks muttered, earning a glare from his partner. "What?"

"I'll finish it," Beth growled. "Now quit it."

From beside her, Callen shot her a curious look. "Wow. Where'd that come from?"

She pursed her lips. "Just something my mom always said when we fought." She gave a nervous chuckle. "And I always swore I wouldn't be like her."

Callen would have commented further, but he was currently fighting a migraine so he let the topic drop and continued up to Ops instead.

"Good morning, all," Hetty greeted them as they entered the room. She gestured for Eric to begin, and he tapped his tablet screen to bring a photograph up on the SmartBoard. A young man's naval photo came up, dressed in full uniform and with a serious expression on his handsome face.

"Petty Officer 3rd Class Michael Henderson was found dead in his Santa Barbara home last night," Nell began. She brought up another photo, this time of the crime scene. The same man lay on his kitchen floor, dressed in plain clothes with his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. There was nothing out of place, other than the man on the floor. In fact, if his eyes had been closed, it would have appeared that he had simply fallen asleep in the kitchen. "No apparent forced entry, no visible signs of trauma," she informed them.

"Who found the body?" Callen asked, squinting as the pain in his head pounded harder for a split second before fading back to just above tolerable.

"His sister, Kendra Wills," Eric replied. "She was supposed to meet him for lunch and when he didn't show she went to the house to look for him."

"Do we have a cause of death?" Kensi asked.

Nell shook her head. "Not yet. We're still waiting for the coroner's report."

"Suspects?"

This time Hetty spoke up. "Petty Officer Henderson was part of a special team tasked with creating and testing sonic weaponry. There have been numerous threats made by various animal rights groups against this type of experimentation, up to and including targeting those running the tests."

"Right," Beth agreed with a nod. "They claim that the sonic waves generated scramble the sonar used by whales and dolphins to navigate, and as a result the animals end up beaching themselves and die of suffocation."

"Unfortunately, their concerns may prove valid," Hetty continued. "Testing performed by the Navy itself shows that there can be an alteration in the feeding and swimming patterns of ocean mammals when sonar is introduced."

"There _can_ be," Beth stressed. "But the results are far from conclusive."

"Still, the tests seem to show a negative effect, but as yet no effort has been made to discontinue development of the weapon."

"So instead of trying to appeal through legislation or other peaceful methods, these groups turn to sabotage," Callen stated.

"And now, possible homicide," Hetty said, nodding sadly.

Rubbing his forehead, Callen turned to Eric. "We'll need a list of any animal rights groups that've made recent threats."

Eric nodded and started typing on his tablet as Callen looked at the team. "Okay. Beth and I will talk to Henderson's sister. Kensi and Deeks, you two take the list Eric's got and see if anyone went through with their threats."

"Got it," Deeks told him. Glancing sideways at his partner, he asked, "Coming, Kensalina?"

She gave him a wry grin. "Call me that again and see what happens."

Shifting his gaze between the two, Eric interrupted them. "Uh, I sent the list – with addresses – to your phones."

"Fantastic," Deeks said, clapping Eric on the shoulder. "Hey, partner-who-shall-not-be-named. Let's go."

Beth looked at Callen and rolled her eyes, but he seemed to not be paying attention; his eyes were distant, a slight frown sending his brows dipping toward his nose.

It was only when she called, "Callen," that he looked up and finally realized where he was.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"You okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. Just have a bad headache."

She gave him a skeptical look, but let the subject drop and followed him out to begin their investigation.

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Just a side note about the sonar debate in the last chapter...while I believe the military tries to have interest in the safety of Americans, sometimes that puts the well-being of other animals at risk and that is irresponsible. However, that does not mean I condone the actions of such groups as ALF and Greenpeace, either. I believe they are little better than domestic terrorists and should be held accountable for their actions._

_Okay, I'm off my soapbox. Read on!_

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><p><span>Chapter 3<span>

His legs were burning, the muscles feeling like melting rubber, but still he ran.

He was so close he could hear the man's breathing, ragged and stuttered as they hopped railings and climbed walls through downtown LA. He wanted to reach out and grab the man's black hoodie, but he knew if he did he would stumble, so he locked his eyes on the figure running in front of him and concentrated on controlling his own breath. Sweat tracked down his face, slipping into his eyes and making them sting, but he growled at the pain and kept going.

He had to catch him. Had to find out who he was and why he was watching him.

They were in a stairwell, and he realized it was the same one as before. Last time, he had made a grab for the hooded figure's ankle and missed, letting the man get away. Determined not to make the same mistake again, he poured every last ounce of strength into his legs and pounded up the stairs, then slammed through the fire door at the top. The sun was too bright, blinding him. He put his arm up to shield his eyes from the bright light, but unfortunately this gave the stranger the chance to pop out from around the corner and smash him in the stomach with a two-by-four. He dropped to his knees, white light exploding behind his eyes, then fell forward as another blow connected with the back of his head. Instinct made him curl into a fetal position with his arms protecting his skull, but it could not keep the man from kicking him savagely in the gut. Two kicks landed square in his stomach, then three more followed closely after that. He was hit so hard that he had to struggle to keep his lunch down; closing his eyes, he gasped in lungfuls of air until he could move without nausea overwhelming him.

Callen jerked awake, the sensation of falling tingling in his limbs. A quick glance told him he was home, on the cot he called a bed, but when he moved to sit up he found that his stomach hurt as if the kicks he received in the dream had been real, and his muscles were actually tight and sore. Standing up was a chore, and by the time he got halfway to the kitchen he was close to abandoning the idea of a drink and just crawling back into bed.

"Come on, Callen," he scolded himself with a frown. Shaking his head, he pushed forward and made it to the kitchen, flicking on the light as he went. He filled a glass with tap water and chugged half of it, then stood at the sink looking at his reflection in the window. His lips and face looked a little pale, but he chalked it up to being even more tired than usual. The dreams had been nonstop lately, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. More than once this week he had been embarrassed to wake up shouting and realize he had fallen asleep at his desk. His team did not mention it, but by their increased mothering he could tell they sensed something wrong. He'd had to threaten Sam with violence if he canceled the family vacation, telling him that Michelle would kill Callen if he tried to stay behind to take care of him. Sam deserved this vacation; Callen knew that he hadn't taken even a day off in almost three years, so he'd be damned if he let Sam miss this chance to relax.

As he drained the last of the water from the glass and set it on the counter, he heard his alarm go off in the bedroom. Sighing, he turned away from the sink, but stopped as a wave of dizziness crashed through him and he was forced to grip the edge of the counter while fighting the black veil that threatened to descend over his eyes. When the room finally stopped spinning, he slowly wended his way back to his bedroom and shut off the alarm, then started getting ready for work. It took him forever to get dressed, and he almost fell over when he had to stand on one leg to put his jeans on, but eventually he was dressed and in the car, driving to the Mission.

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><p>He managed to make it to OSP without another dizzy spell, and his first stop once inside was the water cooler. He was so thirsty he drank two full cups and was on his third when Kensi and Deeks wandered in, laughing over a story the blond LAPD liason was telling.<p>

"Hey, Callen," Kensi greeted as she noticed him still standing by the cooler.

He waved back. "Hey, Kens. Deeks."

Deeks opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly closed it and cocked his head to the side. Kensi smiled, amused by how much he resembled his mutt, Monty.

"You okay, Callen?" Deeks asked. "Look a little pale."

Callen nodded, a wry smile pasted on his face. "Yeah. Just a little backlogged on sleep, that's all."

The blond man narrowed his blue eyes. "You sure? I mean, you just..."

"Deeks, I'm fine."

After another full minute of scrutiny, Deeks shrugged. "If you say so."

Marty Deeks might not be a super-agent like G. Callen, but even he could see that something was wrong. Never one to push someone, however, he walked over to his desk and plopped down in his chair.

"Pouting?" Kensi asked.

He shook his shaggy mane of hair. "Not."

"He tell you what's wrong?"

Another shake of his head. "Nope."

She grinned at the subject of their talk as he passed her desk, and when he was out of earshot asked, "You gonna leave it alone?"

Now he nodded instead. "Even without his huge partner here, he scares me."

"Smart man," Kensi told him.

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Callen's symptoms got worse as the day wore on, and he was grateful for their briefing at Ops as he could finally lean his elbows on the table and rest his legs a while. He managed to get through it without having to speak very much, and as no one noticed his deteriorating condition - or did but were afraid to bring it up - they left the room en masse, allowing him to stagger out as slowly as he wished. Negotiating the stairs was a little tricky; by the time his feet touched the bottom floor sweat was trickling down his face and neck, dripping uncomfortably down his back. Shuffling at the pace of a ninety-year-old man, he got to the bathroom and splashed cool water on his face, gasping as it shocked his warm skin. After a few minutes he was getting into his car, knowing full well that he shouldn't drive but not wishing for any of his team - or Hetty, for that matter - to see him that way.

By some miracle, he got home and collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to remove his clothes or shoes. Shivering, he pulled the blanket over himself only to kick it off a few moments later, stiflingly hot. His stomach was hurting worse now, a sharp pain right under his ribcage that got worse when he breathed too deep. He knew he should have told someone at work, but the last thing he wanted was for them to worry about him, which experience told him they would.

Nauseous to a degree he had never felt before, Callen clutched at his stomach and moaned aloud, the pain making him writhe around on his bed as the fever raged through him like wildfire in July. He looked around for a glass of water, but he did not have the energy to get back out of bed, so he simply laid there, sweat pouring off his body.

When he finally managed to fall asleep he had one nightmare after another, of his time in Romania, of being shot on a street corner here at home, even one starring the Chameleon. But the worst of all was one where the members of his team turned into twisted-looking clowns and chased after him, their teeth sharpened into points like a crocodile's fangs. He ran hard, knowing that if they caught him they would kill him, and for a split second while he was hiding he almost called out for his mother, but then he remembered she was dead, and he was all alone.

Finally, at a little past 3 am, he woke with a shout, his sheets damp with sweat. He wiped his hand over his face, having had enough of the dreams. Even as sick as he felt, he needed to be around other people, so he slowly dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a college football t-shirt and staggered out to his car, but not before filling his water bottle at the tap. He took a long swig on the way out the door, letting a few drops spill down his chin. He was so thirsty, but with no idea why as he usually got plenty to drink during the day. The hydration made him feel a little better; his muscles were not so fatigued and the ache in his gut had dulled a bit.

He was glad for the late hour, as the streets were almost deserted. His vision was so blurred by whatever illness he had, if it had been any busier he surely would have gotten into an accident and killed either himself or someone else. Callen pulled into a parking lot and parked his car. As he switched off the ignition he happened to glance in the rear view mirror and grimaced. He looked as terrible as he felt - his eyes red-rimmed, his skin pale and beaded with tiny pinpricks of sweat - and though a sight like that would usually make him want to hide, the memory of his nightmares had him stepping into OSP, for once hoping that someone would be there.

"Callen? What are you doing here?"

He looked up and nearly sighed aloud. Nell was standing at the top railing, peering down at him with a confused frown on her face.

"Hey, Nell. Couldn't sleep." He lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What're you doing here?"

She gave him a wry smile. "Going over some stuff for Hetty. Wanna come help?"

He nodded and started climbing the stairs, careful to hide how tired he was after only five or six steps up. If Nell sensed anything wrong, she made no mention of it, and when he finally reached the top she slipped her arm through his and led him into the computer lab. He waited until she took her seat in front of her computer then dropped into the nearest chair, hiding his shaky hands between his knees. His stomach rolled uncomfortably, but a few deep breaths and some more of his water managed to calm it a little.

"So, I've been going through the surveillance cameras near Petty Officer Henderson's during his estimated time of death, looking for anything out of place - you know, someone running or a car speeding past - but nothing's stood out to me yet. I've been watching it and rewinding for the last four hours, and my head's killing me."

_So is mine_, he thought about saying. Instead, he said, "Go ahead and run them again. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will help."

She nodded and pressed a button, and four separate camera views popped up on the screen. They watched in silence for a while, until Nell glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and asked, "So, nightmares again?"

He looked at the side of her face. "How do you know about those?"

She pursed her lips, seemingly unwilling to divulge that information, but when she turned and saw his blue eyes boring into her she ducked her head and said, "Sometimes when you fall asleep on the couch you...well, it seems like you're having a bad dream."

Something inside him shut down then, and he realized that it was the wall Beth had told him about. His voice tight, he lied, "Yeah, well...I just couldn't sleep."

Nell shrugged. "Oh. Okay."

He heard the soft reply, the kind he used to give the bad foster parents to avoid being hit, and he hated himself for it.

"Nell," he sighed, "I didn't mean to..."

"No, it's fine," she quickly responded. "I shouldn't have...It's okay."

"I'm sorry. I snapped."

"It's late. You're just tired."

Callen shook his head. "That's no excuse. You were just asking, like friends do."

She smiled. "Right."

"So, we good?"

"We're good."

"Good."

They turned back to the video, and a few moments later Nell stopped the tape with a cry of discovery, pointing to the lower left camera. "Watch there." She started it up again, and through slightly blurred eyes Callen watched as a light-colored car sped through a parking lot a dozen yards from where Henderson's home stood. It was at the very edge of the picture, almost hidden completely by a road sign, which explained why she had missed it before. Heck, if she had not pointed it out to him he would have missed it, too. The time stamp was 11:48 am.

"Henderson's time of death was between 10 am and 12 pm," Nell told him.

"That's gotta be it," Callen agreed. "Better call Hetty."

"Now? But it's so late. Or...early?" She flushed and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can't you call her?"

He might have given in had his stomach not begun to stab with the same sharp pain it had earlier. Sweat prickled the back of his neck and shoulders, and his vision grayed a bit.

_Please, not now_, he begged. When he was sure he would not lose consciousness, he said, "I would, but she'll go easier on us if a woman is on the other end."

Nell huffed out the breath she had been holding. "Okay, but if she yells at me you'll be sorry."

She picked up the phone on her desk and pressed a button, then put the phone to her ear and waited. Callen could hear a click, followed by a muffled "This had better be important."

"Hello, Hetty," Nell said, her usually chipper voice a bit more subdued. "I'm sorry for the late hour, but Agent Callen and I have found something. He felt it was worth calling you."

There was another reply from their manager, and Nell closed her eyes, obviously trying to remain calm.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get them here as soon as the sun's up."

After a short pause she hung up and set the phone on her desk with a sigh. Callen watched with a look of amusement on his face.

"She mad?"

"A little."

He grinned past the increasing pain in his gut. "She'll get over it."

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

True to her word, Nell had called each of the other members of the team, and by seven a.m. Ops was filled with the usual people. Hetty stood in the middle of the room, an unreadable expression on her face. From what Callen could tell, though, she did not look happy. Perhaps because of this, Nell and Eric had shoved themselves into the most inconspicuous corner of the room, trying not to make eye contact with their formidable leader. Deeks and Kensi stood side-by-side, alternately yawning and grumbling about being disturbed from sleep, and Beth paced someplace between them and where Callen sat, likewise miffed at being dragged in at such an hour.

"Sit down, Beth," Callen said. "You're making me nervous."

She stopped and looked at him, her bloodshot green eyes narrowed into slits. "You're lucky this is important. I was_ this_ close to throwing my phone out the window."

"Mr. Callen," Hetty spoke up then, "would you kindly explain why we are all here?"

He nodded to Nell, who cleared her throat and took over.

"We finally found a lead on one of the surveillance cameras. A white or silver Buick Verano can be seen speeding past Petty Officer Henderson's home." To prove this, she brought up the footage on the big screen. Everyone watched the car careen through the lot, each of them squinting to try and make out the license plate. She frowned and added, "I've already tried to enhance the image, but it's too far away to make out."

"That car looks brand new," Beth said. "Who takes a brand new car to a murder?"

"Not the owner," Deeks put in. "Those run over 20 grand. 30 if you get the premier leather package. No way you're gonna risk blood getting on seats like that."

Beth nodded. "Which means someone lifted it."

"Eric, look for stolen vehicles that match this one, either yesterday or the day before," Kensi said. "Chances are they've ditched it by now, but maybe there's fingerprints or other evidence inside."

Eric did as requested, and after only a matter of moments he cried, "Got it! A silver 2014 Verano was reported stolen Wednesday afternoon by Mr. Robert Lewanski. License plate is 6UPD207."

"Does it have GPS?" Callen asked.

"Looks like OnStar, yep."

Hetty finally spoke up. "Turn it on, Mr. Beale."

Again, Eric worked his magic, and he leaned back with a satisfied smile on his face. "Done. It's currently parked in a driveway on Greenfield Avenue."

"Alright. Send the address to my phone," Callen ordered him. "Deeks and Kensi, go talk to Lewanski. Find out how and where his car was jacked."

"On it," Deeks said, grabbing Kensi's elbow and pulling her out of the room after him. "Come on, Sunshine. Let's go grab some coffee."

"Yay," Kensi celebrated around another yawn. "But only if it's hazelnut."

His chuckle could be heard as they descended the stairs to the main floor. "Whatever you want."

"I take it I'm with you?" Beth asked Callen, who nodded.

"We're gonna go check out the car."

"Can we get coffee, too?"

He shrugged. "If you want."

"I do. And a bagel."

"Really?"

She pouted. "Hey, you're the one who dragged me out of bed while it was still dark. I didn't have time to grab breakfast."

"We'll see," was all he said.

Callen was grimacing again, she noticed then. Touching him on his arm she asked, "Are you okay?"

He pulled out of her grasp and stood up, but the sudden rush of blood to his head made him dizzy, and he crashed back into the chair. "I'm fine," he told her. "I just need a second."

She started to argue, but the set of his jaw silenced her, and she replied, "Okay. I'll be downstairs."

"We leave in twenty."

With a nod, she left the room. Hetty looked at Callen as if she wanted to say something, and he braced for the typical lecture she would usually give him under these circumstances. But after a moment she simply turned and walked after Beth, and he blew out a sigh of relief. He knew what he was doing was dangerous and that he really should be at home in bed, but every time he thought about being alone his heart sped up. Besides, this case was important and he needed to see it through to the end.

Grabbing his water bottle from the table, he left Ops and slowly shuffled down the stairs. He made a stop in the men's room to wipe the sweat from his forehead and splash a little cool water on his face. As he straightened up and turned to throw the paper towel away, the pain in his stomach amped up to a level he had not yet experienced, and he screwed his eyes shut and breathed deep and slow in an attempt to keep his gut from rebelling. Too slowly, it finally calmed down to a manageable level, still nauseous but no longer fighting to keep everything down.

His arm around his waist, he slowly edged out of the bathroom and into the locker room, where everyone was stowing their unnecessary personal items before the mission. Kensi saw him first, and her dark eyes grew wide.

"Callen!" She exclaimed, slamming her locker shut and drawing a wince from the senior agent. "You look terrible!"

He grinned - well, more like grimaced - at her. "Thanks, Kens. You look pretty rough, yourself."

She took a step toward him, her hands out in front of her, but the next thing Callen knew he was going blind and his legs refused to hold him up. His ears buzzed so that he could no longer hear anything, and his tongue felt too big for his mouth and tasted like hot metal. He thought Kensi's perfume smelled nice and he wanted to tell her so, but nothing would come out.

Then, there was nothing but black.

* * *

><p>"Should we take...to...hospital?"<p>

"...would hate that...know...he feels about needles..."

"He's burning...We need...do something."

Callen strained to listen to the voices nearby, but they were speaking too low to catch anything definite, probably in a bid to let him sleep. He felt too hot and his body hurt all over, but he could barely move, and his mouth refused to work.

"...knew something was wrong..."

_Deeks_, Callen thought. He knew enough about what regret and guilt sounded like to recognize it in someone else.

"If...felt sick, why didn't...say...thing?"

That was Kensi, and she was both afraid and angry. _But afraid of what?_ he wondered. He was fine, just very exhausted.

_Right?_

"Shh," someone very close to his ear said then, and it was all he needed to recognize Hetty's voice. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead, dabbing at the sweat beading on his skin. As he struggled further toward consciousness, the cloth was moved to his chest, which had somehow become bare while he had been passed out.

"He's waking up," Beth's voice said as his eyelids slowly peeled open.

"Welcome back," Kensi said, her tone soft.

Callen swallowed. "Thanks," he rasped, his throat dry. "How long?"

"An hour or so," Deeks answered as he brought over a cup of water. Handing it to Hetty, he added, "We were 'bout to start a pool on you."

Hetty waited until he shifted to an upright position before giving him the water. Her voice was stern as she asked, "How long have you been feeling ill, Mr. Callen?"

"Yesterday morning," Callen admitted. Catching Beth's eye, he explained, "But I thought it was just my insomnia catching up to me."

"Symptoms?"

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling like a martyr. "Dizziness, aching muscles, extreme fatigue."

"Nausea?"

He nodded. "A little."

She eyed him, frustration clear on her face. "You should have said something earlier. You nearly gave everyone in the locker room a heart attack."

"I know." His stomach rolled sickly, but he tried to ignore it. "I'm sorry."

"How are you feeling now?" Beth asked, taking the now-empty cup from him. Even though she was the same height as Nell, standing beside a seated Hetty she seemed tall. Not Nate Getz tall but maybe Kensi-tall.

All at once, his mouth filled with saliva and the sides of his lower jaw tasted metallic. He had just enough time to launch himself across the room and drop to his knees with his face in Deeks' wastebasket before his stomach sent its contents back up and out. The sudden fury of his illness surprised everyone so that they all froze in horror, but then Beth rushed forward and dropped to her knees beside him, worry etching lines in her brow. Her hand rubbed light circles on his bare back as he retched and coughed, and when he finally seemed finished she held out the wet cloth for him to wipe his mouth. Hetty gave him some more water and stood nearby until he had finished it, and Deeks came over and helped Beth get Callen to his feet, half-carrying him back to the couch where he lay down and allowed himself to be covered with a light blanket.

Beth perched on the edge of the couch beside him, her fingers stroking the short hairs at his forehead. His whole body was trembling, shivering as if he was in the Arctic though every inch of skin shone with perspiration, and his gaze was hazy and unfocused. He began to drift in and out of sleep, his eyelids struggling to stay open. Beth closed her hand around Callen's wrist, her fingers on his pulse.

"Hetty," she called to the shorter woman, "he's getting worse. I don't like the way his pulse has slowed down."

Everyone took a step closer and stood in a semi-circle around the couch, watching helplessly while high above Nell and Eric stared in disbelief as their once strong leader shuddered uncontrollably. Nell's nails bit into her palms and her lips turned down in an angry frown as Callen's body twitched. Whatever was wrong, they needed to find a way to get him better, and fast.

"Perhaps we should get him to the hospital," Hetty said. Beth was right; his skin was even paler than before, and when she put her hand to his forehead the fever felt hotter. Hetty feared that if they did not do something soon he would have a seizure, maybe even stop breathing.

From where he lay, Callen suddenly opened his eyes and cried, "No! Please, no!"

Hetty only had to give Beth a single look, and with an understanding nod the younger woman abandoned her seat, standing by his head as Hetty sat down beside Callen. Taking his hand, she said, "You are severly ill, Mr. Callen. I fear if you do not receive medical attention soon, things will go very bad, very fast."

"I'll get the car ready," Deeks volunteered.

"I'll help you," Eric said, already jogging down the stairs to meet him.

Desperate, Callen reached for Beth's arm, his blue eyes panicked.

"Please," he said. "Don't take me..."

"Don't worry. I'll be right there with you, every minute," she replied. He gripped her arm tighter, so she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly and added, "I promise."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Finally, for all you Sam lovers - he appears in this chapter! YAY!_

_Also, I make no claims as to being a medical professional, but my cursory investigation into basic medical care for Callen's illness has resulted in the following chapter. If something's wrong, either ignore it in the interest of fiction or let me know how to fix it. :) _

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 6<span>

The ride to the hospital consisted of Deeks driving like a maniac through lunch hour traffic and Callen clutching a bucket to his chest and vomiting into it every few minutes, all while Beth alternated between soothing Callen and screaming at Deeks to slow down. Truthfully, though, she was glad for Deeks' wild driving; Callen's skin was beginning to look ashy and when she touched his hand she could tell he was dehydrated. He was getting weaker, too, and she feared that in another minute he would not have the strength to remain upright.

Callen was just finishing up another round of vomiting when they pulled into the emergency bay of the hospital. Deeks shut off the engine and helped Beth walk a very out-of-it Callen into the ER. They quickly explained the situation to the first nurse to approach them, and she instructed them to put Callen on a gurney that happened to be parked along the corridor wall. As they obeyed, with Deeks taking his upper half and Beth his lower, the nurse hurried off to find a doctor.

Callen struggled against them, but his rapidly waning energy was no match for the two agents. When they finally had him all the way on the gurney, Deeks took Callen by the shoulders and stared down at him.

"Callen, you need to relax, okay?"

"Get me out...here," Callen growled, attempting to sound as intimidating as possible, but Deeks just shook his head.

"Can't do that, buddy. You're sick. Doc's the only one that can make you better."

Realizing he was getting nowhere, he turned his blue eyes on Beth.

"Please...Beth..." He stopped as his face went white and it seemed he would throw up again, but the feeling passed. "Take...home."

"Honey, I can't. I'm sorry," she said, her eyes filling with tears at the look of betrayal he gave her.

The nurse returned then, with a middle-aged doctor close behind. With kind green eyes, he assessed Callen's condition and began giving the nurse instructions.

"Get him into a room, get vitals and start an IV." He pulled out a penlight and shone it in each of Callen's eyes, then nodded thoughtfully and turned to the two agents. "How long has he had these symptoms?"

"Two days, maybe?" Deeks replied. At the puzzled and slightly annoyed expression he explained, "He's a pretty private guy. Keeps to himself."

"Jackie," the doctor addressed the nurse again, and she nodded.

"Yes, Doug?"

"Give him 100 grams Donnagel and 10 mg Prochlorperazine."

"You got it."

The nurse began to wheel the gurney away then, but when he realized he was moving, Callen made a sound and tried to sit up. Deeks moved to soothe him, but Beth stepped around him, her hand on his shoulder. "Let me," she said.

"You sure?"

Beth nodded. "I'm his partner." Slipping her left hand into Callen's, she used her right hand to gently push him back down, shushing him softly. "It's okay," she said. "We're just gonna get you comfortable, okay?"

His eyes were open wide, and only now did she see how tiny his pupils were, little more than pinholes in the center of his irises. Looking up at the doctor, she felt a pit in her stomach as she asked, "What's wrong with him? Why are his eyes like that?"

The doctor, who had just introduced himself to Deeks as Dr. Douglas Charles, replied, "Well, I won't know for sure until we do a few tests, but my guess is he's been poisoned."

The two agents gaped at him. "Poisoned?"

Dr. Charles nodded. "Any idea how that might have happened?"

They both shook their heads, and Beth said, "He's a...he's very careful."

"When will you find out what it is, for sure?" Deeks asked, already pulling out his cell phone. From where she stood Beth could see Kensi's number on the screen.

The doctor gave a wry smile. "Soon, hopefully."

As Beth followed Callen's gurney into a room Deeks stayed in the hallway, talking to his partner. Though the door was closed, muffling his voice, as he paced back and forth in front of the small inset window she watched his lips to fill in the blanks

"Kensi, tell Hetty...Callen might've been poisoned."

Her eyes flicked to the man laid out before her, his clothes being carefully removed by the nurse. Her vision tunneled, as if she were watching a movie rather than real life happening around her, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. After a moment of indecision, she yanked the door open and got Deeks' attention.

"We have to call Sam," she said.

He shook his head.

_No._

"If something happens..." Beth felt her throat close up, and tears burned the corners of her eyes. "How would you feel if Kensi was hurt and no one told you?"

He clenched his jaw and glared at her. Then, he shifted the cell phone slightly and said, "I don't know, Kens. You guys figure it out, okay?"

He listened, his eyes not moving from Beth's face as Kensi spoke.

"Okay," he replied. "Let me know what happens."

Ending the call, he tossed the phone to Beth. She caught it easily, frowning at him in confusion.

"What...?" She began.

"You wanna tell Sam, so you call him."

She paused to glance back in the room. Callen was on his side, facing the door. His arms were wrapped around his stomach and his knees drawn up almost to his chest as he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. Turning back to Deeks, she nodded. "He needs to know."

Her hands shook as she found Sam's number in Deeks' contacts. Pressing the CALL button, she put the phone to her ear and waited. It rang five times, then six, and just as she worried his voicemail would come on, there was a pause and then Sam's voice asked, "What's wrong, Deeks?"

"Hi, Sam," Beth said.

"Who is this?" Sam asked, already on edge. "How'd you get Deeks' phone?"

"Um...I'm Bethany Woods. Hetty put me on as Callen's partner..."

He sighed. "Right. Sorry, Bethany. I heard you were taking my place during my vacation, but I never got a chance to meet you."

"That's okay. You were busy..." Remembering the reason for her call, she took a breath and said, "I'm sorry to call while you're with your family, but, um..." her eyes filled with tears, and she had to fight to keep from sobbing aloud. "...Callen's really sick."

There was a long pause as the background noise she had been hearing on Sam's end suddenly went silent. Wherever he had been, he was now someplace private, most likely inside a room with the door shut.

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," Beth replied honestly. "He's been throwing up almost constantly for about an hour, at least until ten or fifteen minutes ago. And he's really pale and weak."

"How?" He asked.

"We're not sure yet. The doctor thinks he's been poisoned."

His response was immediate. "I'm coming back."

"Sam, I'm really sorry..."

"It's not your fault."

"But your family..." The tears were falling now. Deeks, still standing inconspicuously nearby, reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

"My family understands," Sam told her. "Besides, G's my family, too."

He covered the phone with his hand and murmured something, then put it back to his ear and said, "I'll be there on the next flight. Tell him to hang on."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: Sorry it took so long, guys! I was busy with work all week, and then today when I went to post and catch up, FF was down for almost the whole day! But seeing as it's now back, I figured I'd post this chapter for all you patient readers, so enjoy! Chapter 8 is coming very soon, too._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 7<span>

"What room?" Sam asked Deeks as soon as he strode down the hallway and reached where the detective and Beth stood.

"Sam..." Deeks started, but Sam held up one of his large hands and set his lips in a firm line.

"What. Room?" He asked again, and Deeks visibly deflated and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.

"220, but he's not..." he said to Sam's already disappearing back. He and Beth shared a glance before simultaneously following Sam at a distance, both stopping just inside the door and watching as the Navy SEAL quietly sank into the chair beside Callen's bed. His hand covering his mouth, he silently took in his best friend's condition and then closed his eyes tightly, so much so that his forehead wrinkled. He took Callen's hand in both of his and held it to his forehead as his mouth formed silent words, and Beth finally realized that he was praying. She felt both honored and intrusive watching him and the way he cared for Callen; unbidden tears sprang to her eyes as she felt Sam's love for his "brother" filling the room. When she looked at Deeks and saw the same concern in his eyes as Sam had, the tears finally spilled over and slipped down her cheeks. He was so important to all of them, and now he was seriously ill, a mystery poison slowly tearing away at the cords that held him in this world. She felt somehow responsible, though there was no rational reason to be. She glanced again at the man lying in the bed, wires snaking from him in every direction so that he looked like some kind of mad scientist's experiment, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. He had been so strong, so alive just days ago. That his condition had deteriorated to him lying there unconscious and weak was unthinkable and just...altogether wrong.

"What happened to him?" She heard Sam ask, and the need to be the one to answer overpowered her.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Poison. We're not sure what kind, or how it got into his system."

Sam's brown eyes looked up at her. "He's too careful. This can't be happening."

"I wish it wasn't," she replied, taking a cautious step toward the bed. "I wish I hadn't ruined your vacation. I never..."

He shook his head. "It's not your fault, Beth. Whoever did this to him, that's who's to blame. When I find them..."

He trailed off as Callen's eyelids twitched and his fingers, still clutched in Sam's grasp, curled reflexively. Forgetting her apprehensions, Beth moved forward and gently stroked Callen's arm.

"Callen?" She called softly. "Can you hear me? If you can hear me, open your eyes."

It took a few slow tries, but finally his blue irises were barely visible under his sagging lids. Still, it was enough to excite the three of them, and Deeks immediately ducked out of the room to call Hetty.

"Hey, Sunshine," Beth said, smiling. "Thought you were a goner."

He didn't reply, only glanced around the room in confusion. But when he saw Sam there his brows knitted together and he whispered, "Sam? What...?"

"Beth called me," his partner explained. "She knew how much I'd wanna be here when you woke up."

Callen's jaw worked and his gaze filled with guilt. Blinking back tears, he turned to stare up at the ceiling, but Sam put his hand on Callen's shoulder and said, "I know what you're thinkin', G, but you should stop. I'd rather be here with you, seeing you with my own eyes, than far away on some beach not knowing anything and waiting for a phone call telling me you made it okay. So stop hating yourself and feeling guilty. Okay?" Though he continued to stare at the ceiling, Callen nodded, and Sam patted his partner's arm. "Okay."

Deeks returned then, and stepped around to the other side of the bed. "I know you're not up to talking yet, but someone wants to talk to you."

Callen nodded slowly, so Deeks held up his cellphone so Callen could see the screen and said, "Okay, we're ready."

Hetty's face appeared, a soft smile on her lips. "Mr. Callen. It is so good to see you awake. We were all very worried for you these past three days."

_Three days? Had he really been out of it that long?_

"Did Mr. Hanna make it there yet?"

Sam leaned over so the camera could pick him up. "Sure did, Hetty."

"Oh, good. You have plenty of company then. Well, I'll leave you to get some rest. I am so very glad to see you will be all right."

"Hetty," Callen croaked, unwilling to let her go so soon, but she clucked her tongue at him.

"Hush now," she said. "Save your strength. I am sure you will need as much as you can get, very soon." She paused and disappeared from the screen for a moment, and Deeks thought he heard a quiet sound, like a sniffle. Then, she was back again. "Now, Mr. Callen, get some sleep. That is an order."

He nodded, giving her a shadow of his usual sly grin. "Bye," he rasped.

Her eyes widened. "Cheeky!" she cried. "You know I hate goodbyes. Until later."

"We'll take care of him," Sam said, taking the phone from Deeks and getting up to pace around the room.

Hetty nodded. "I know you will. I hope, Mr. Hanna, that Michelle is not too upset? You had this vacation planned well in advance, after all."

"She's okay. As soon as she heard why we were coming back she told me to drop her off and come straight here. Wouldn't even let me in the house to change."

"She truly is an understanding woman. Still, once your partner has mended I will see to it that you have your much-deserved holiday."

"Thanks, Hetty, but right now I can't think of anything else besides G."

Hetty's wry smile filled the screen. "I expect nothing less from you, Sam." She looked away from the camera for a few moments and nodded, then turned back and said, "It seems I am needed by SECNAV. Please keep me informed as to Mr. Callen's progress."

Sam nodded. "Of course."

Satisfied with his reply, she ended the call from her side, and Sam handed the phone back to Deeks, who fumbled and nearly dropped it.

Frowning, he said, "Hey! This is a new phone."

"Not my fault you can't catch," Sam retorted.

"Could you two please be quiet?" Beth bristled from the seat Sam had vacated earlier. "Callen's asleep."

Both men stopped and watched Callen's face. Sure enough, his eyes were closed, his head turned to the side with Beth's hand tucked under his cheek. Though he had stopped sweating his skin was still extremely pale, his lips the same color as the rest of his face. If it hadn't been for the steady beep of the heart monitor and the jerky rise and fall of his chest he looked...well, less than alive.

"Sorry," Deeks said, his voice little more than a murmur. He looked around the room then, an odd expression on his stubbled face. After a moment where he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, he sighed and said, "Y'know what? I can't...I'm gonna go call Kensi. I'll be back...later."

As he all but ran from the room, Beth looked up and Sam in confusion, and he smiled. "Deeks and hospitals don't go together. In fact, none of us particularly enjoy them. But with him...well, you saw."

She nodded. "What's the deal?"

He leaned against the wall beside her, crossing his arms over his chest as he explained, "A few years back, Deeks was shot at point blank range inside a convenience store. Lost a lot of blood and nearly died."

"God," Beth breathed. "Was it a robbery?"

"No. It's a long story, but the short version is that he was shot to get to Kensi. Deeks spent a long time in the hospital, forced to lie still. You know how bad he is at being quiet."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Surprised they didn't just sedate him."

"They threatened it, believe me. Anyway, since then, every time he steps into a hospital he gets real antsy."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Next time he gets on my nerves, I'll just mention the word and see what happens."

He shrugged. "Worth a try."

They both fell silent and watched Callen sleep, their eyes glued to his face to watch for any signs of distress, ready to jump up at the slightest wince or forehead wrinkle. Beth's fingers, still resting under his face, could just barely feel the scratch of unshaven beard on his cheek as they were slowly going numb, but she would rather let her whole body turn to pins and needles than move and risk disturbing him. She was just happy that his fever had dissipated and his skin was comfortably warm instead of burning hot. She didn't like how pale he still was, or how fatigued he seemed, but she supposed it was to be expected when someone was poisoned.

Dr. Charles knocked lightly on the open door and entered the room then.

"Agent Woods? We got the test results back from the lab."

"Do you know what kind of poison did this?" She asked.

He nodded. "Oleander extract. The concentration in his system was extremely high, so much so that he should have been dead hours before you brought him in."

"But how did they slip it to him?" Sam asked. "He never goes to the same place to eat, even goes to a different coffee joint each morning."

The doctor eyed Sam curiously, so Beth said, "This is Callen's partner, Sam. Sam, this is Dr. Charles."

"Good to meet you," Sam greeted him.

"You, too. Well, although oleander is common here, I doubt your friend would have willingly eaten it, and anyway if he had it wouldn't present the same signs of toxicity buildup in his system."

"It's common here?" Beth asked.

Dr. Charles nodded. "It's all over LA. Parks, highway medians, even people's yards. They use it because the wildlife won't touch it due to its high toxicity."

"G's not much of a gardener," Sam noted.

"How about skin cream? Herbal supplements?" The doctor asked. "He take any of those?"

As Beth shrugged and said, "I don't know," Sam shook his head.

"No. Some mornings it's a struggle just to get him to shave, and he lives off of donuts and bacon. If he took any vitamins at all, they'd be Flintstones."

"In that case, I'd guess that we're down to some kind of liquid form, by introduction through food or water. The oil can be extracted and mixed with water easily enough, though it would have to be given in small doses to disguise the taste and color. The effect would be cumulative that way, as its molecules tend to bond easily to blood cells easily but are hard for the body to metabolize."

"So the poison built up in his body until it couldn't possibly take any more," Beth said.

"Right. Luckily for Mr. Callen, he has an extremely resistant system. Most of the patients I've personally seen with oleander poisoning had only ingested or applied small doses and were even worse off than he was. A few didn't make it at all."

"He's a stubborn guy," Sam told him, and he nodded.

"I can see that."

Beth was deep in thought, trying to puzzle out how someone could have poisoned Callen so long without him noticing. He was the quintessential spy-slash-agent, and as Sam said was very careful, almost to a fault. So how did they do it?

Her eyes unseeingly flicked around the room, scanning various objects without really acknowledging them, but when they rested upon the cup of ice chips on his bedside table, slowly melting to water, a thought hit her. As if in super-rewind, her mind went back to when she had found him asleep on the couch at Ops. He'd had a water bottle tucked beside him, already nearly empty. And again when they'd gotten the Petty Officer case and were walking upstairs, she'd seen him carrying a bottle of water. In fact...

"Sam..." Beth murmured, and the SEAL looked up at her.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I think I know how they did it," she said as she rummaged around in the bag of Callen's person effects.

"You do?" Sam said, coming closer to see what she was doing. "How?"

Finally, she found the object she was searching for and held it up. It was another half-empty water bottle, a brand that had probably cost him a dollar-fifty at any gas station.

"He's had a water bottle with him the entire week," she explained. "That's the only way they could've gotten the poison to him."

Dr. Charles took the bottle from her. "I can send this down to the lab and let you know if they find anything. If I put a rush on it, it should be back in a few hours."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Beth said, shaking her head. "You must have emergencies to deal with..."

"It's no problem. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, and the doctor nodded.

"I am. I'll let you know as soon as the lab's finished."

"Thank you so much, Dr. Charles," Beth said.

Tapping the end of the bottle against his palm, he grinned widely at her. "You're welcome. And please, call me Doug."

When he was gone, Sam chuckled, shaking his head, and Beth frowned.

"What's so funny?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing," Sam replied, feigning innocence.

"Come on," she whined. "I can tell you're lying."

He huffed, then said, "He likes you."

"What? Who?"

"The doctor. He thinks you're pretty."

She furrowed her brow. "Does not."

"Does, too." He laughed. "Shoulda seen the starry look in his eyes. 'Call me Doug'," he mimicked.

Beth rolled her own eyes. "Oh, please. Besides, he's not my type."

"Yeah?" When she nodded, he asked, "What exactly is your type, then?"

She thought for a moment, but when she saw him begin to fidget she hurriedly said, "Well, I don't know. Just _not_ him."

Sam's grin was wolfish as he said, "I bet I know someone who's your type."

"Bet you don't."

He lifted an eyebrow, so she sighed and leaned back in her chair, waving her hand as a queen would at a peasant. "Go on. Take a shot."

"Thank you. Now, I bet you're a sucker for blue eyes."

"Who isn't?"

He snorted. "Not too tall, but not short; someone who can look just as good in a t-shirt and jeans as he does in a tuxedo. Says he's emotionally stunted, but can actually cry. Has a bit of a temper, but is fiercely loyal and can still be extremely gentle."

"All fantastic traits, but..."

"I'm not finished," Sam told her, holding up a finger, and she shut her mouth with a snap. "He needs to be a good leader, but he also knows how to stand up and question authority when he feels like justice is not being served. Oh, and has a serious addiction. To Tootsie Pops."

Beth eyed him. "You're describing a specific person. One in this room, actually."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Am I wrong?"

She turned to watch Callen's sleeping form again. "I don't know, yet. I've only known him a week."

He didn't seem convinced, but let the subject drop. Beth, however, was now stuck there. Sam was an observant man; he'd seen right through her and picked up on how much she cared for Callen, despite their short time together. She wondered what number she was in line, how many other women had fallen for the magnetic blue eyes and mysterious past. It was probably a long line; Callen was dangerously attractive and his refusal to acknowledge it – short of during an undercover mission – only amplified his appeal.

But she had to resist the temptation. He was her partner, even if only temporarily, and there were rules about fraternization between partners. Besides, he had never shown any sign of returning her feelings and now, well, the poor thing was laying in a hospital bed, sick as a dog. She could definitively say the chances of any kind of romantic encounter were zero.

She moved to pull her hand out from under Callen's cheek, as her fingers had gone so numb they felt dead, but he grasped her wrist in his sleep and kept her there. She looked up at Sam, who gave her a wry smile and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Looks like he needs you."

"For now. But you're his real partner."

"Beth." His tone was stern, reminding her of the way her father used to say her name when he was upset with her. "Take care of him."

With that, he left the room, and she was alone with Callen for the first time since they had brought him here.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


End file.
